


And I'm Swallowed In Sound As It Echoes Through Me

by whovianmuse



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Episode: s07e05 The Angels Take Manhattan, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:16:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whovianmuse/pseuds/whovianmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Companion Piece:</b> <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1151960">When She Sings, I Hear A Symphony</a></p><p> </p><p>
  <i>The Doctor sets the coordinates for Leadworth in the spring of 1996, and does exactly as he’d been told to do by a small little cluster of words, written at the very end of his favorite detective novel. He parks the TARDIS in the middle of an overgrown garden next to a dilapidated wooden shed, and, within seconds, discovers seven-year-old Amelia Pond, perched atop a red and white suitcase, all bundled up in a blue pea coat and tiny bright red rain boots. Amelia, who had been waging a war with herself to stay awake, immediately perks up at the sound of the TARDIS landing in her backyard, a brilliant smile lighting up her face at the familiar sight of the time-travelling madman with the blue box. Amelia promptly rises to her feet, suitcase in hand.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I'm Swallowed In Sound As It Echoes Through Me

**Author's Note:**

> The Afterword by Amelia Williams was borrowed from episode 7x05: _The Angels Take Manhattan_. The title was inspired by the song _Stay Young, Go Dancing_ by Death Cab For Cutie.

**Afterword, by Amelia Williams:**

_Hello, old friend, and here we are. You and me, on the last page. By the time you read these words, Rory and I will be long gone, so know that we lived well, and were very happy. And above all else, know that we will love you, always. Sometimes I do worry about you, though. I think, once we’re gone, you won’t be coming back here for a while, and you might be alone, which you should never be. Don’t be alone, Doctor. And, do one more thing for me. There’s a little girl waiting in a garden. She’s going to wait a long while, so she’s going to need a lot of hope. Go to her. Tell her a story. Tell her that if she’s patient, the days are coming that she’ll never forget. Tell her she’ll go to sea and fight pirates. She’ll fall in love with a man who’ll wait two thousand years to keep her safe. Tell her she’ll give hope to the greatest painter who ever lived, and save a whale in outer space. Tell her, this is the story of Amelia Pond, and this is how it ends._

• • •

            The Doctor sets the coordinates for Leadworth in the spring of 1996, and does exactly as he’d been told to do by a small little cluster of words, written at the very end of his favorite detective novel. He parks the TARDIS in the middle of an overgrown garden next to a dilapidated wooden shed, and, within seconds, discovers seven-year-old Amelia Pond, perched atop a red and white suitcase, all bundled up in a blue pea coat and tiny bright red rain boots. Amelia, who had been waging a war with herself to stay awake, immediately perks up at the sound of the TARDIS landing in her backyard, a brilliant smile lighting up her face at the familiar sight of the time-travelling madman with the blue box. Amelia promptly rises to her feet, suitcase in hand.

            “Hello,” he says, waltzing over to the middle of the garden and accidentally stumbling over an upturned tree root. “How long have I been gone?”

            “Couple of hours,” she says, shrugging her shoulders like it doesn’t bother her in the slightest. The Doctor frowns, his eyebrows narrowed in self-contempt.

            “Amelia,” he sighs. “I am so, so sorry. I never meant to keep you waiting.”

            “It’s alright. It’s not like it’s been _years_ or anything, and…I don’t mind waiting,” she says, shifting the weight of her suitcase from one foot to the other. Curious, olive-green eyes rove the length of him, taking in every detail of the enigmatic man standing before her. He hasn’t aged a day, and yet somehow, he looks completely different compared to the nutter of a man who had eaten fish fingers and custard at her kitchen table no more than three hours previously. He looks withered, exhausted, and worst of all…heartbreakingly _sad_.

            Amelia wrinkles her nose in discontent, wonders what could possibly have happened between then and now to make him look so troubled...a man who had, only a few hours before, seemed so jovial and eccentric (if a little rude.) Then again, Amelia reasons, the Doctor is a time-traveller. He could have been away for _ages_ and she would never have even known…and perhaps she isn’t ever meant to find out. After all, some questions are better left unanswered. So Amelia chooses the obvious, lighthearted route instead, deciding that it’s best not to pry.

            “You’ve changed your outfit,” she observes, gesturing at the excessive amount of tweed. The Doctor glances down at his woolen jacket and trousers, his bowtie and his laced-up brown boots, a startling contrast to the ripped and ragged pinstriped trousers, the blue button-up shirt dappled with burn marks, and the swirly-patterned necktie and off-white Chuck Taylors he’d worn on the night he had first met her.

            “Yeah, well, I’ve been away…off travelling, you see. Thought it was time for a new look, and besides which,” he says, straightening the little bundle of blue cloth at the base of his neck. “Bowties are cool.”

            “If you say so,” Amelia laughs, rolling her eyes. “But you’ll always be the Raggedy Doctor to me.”

            “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he murmurs, swallowing back a sob that had clawed its way into the back of his throat, his soft, forged laughter like a macabre lullaby. The Doctor clears his throat and fixes Amelia with a fond smile as he readjusts the strings of an ancient, well-worn masque. For a moment, the Doctor simply stands there, completely at a loss, for the very first time in his life, for what to say his best friend.

            “So,” Amelia says, breaking the silence so that the Doctor doesn’t have to, and dragging her suitcase up to rest against her hip. “When are we leaving? Where will we go?”

            The Doctor’s smile crumbles into a heartbreaking grimace, and he releases a miserable sigh, taking the little suitcase from Amelia’s outstretched hands and delicately placing it on the ground on its side. He gestures for her to reclaim her makeshift seat, and crouches down until he’s eye-level with her, crossing his arms over his knees to keep himself steady.  
            “Amelia,” he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a tangled mess of undeserved guilt and optimism, willing her to understand. “I lied. I haven't come back tonight to take you travelling with me, so I’m afraid I’ll have to break that promise to you. Couple more times after this one as well, I’m afraid. I’ve been gone for far longer than you could ever imagine, and I need you to understand that _now_ is not the time for you to come along with me…but I promise you that I _will_ come back for you…someday, when you’re older…when you’re ready to leave.”

            “And,” he says, faltering for a moment when he catches the look of pure disappointment that crosses Amelia’s face…but the Doctor presses on, _for her_ , because he _has to_ , because he’d promised himself that he would. “And as brilliant as you are right now, I want you to know just how brave, how loyal…and how wonderful you’ll become. And that is _exactly_ the reason I need you to be patient, Amelia, because the days that are coming are the ones you’ll never forget. You’ll travel the stars, Amelia…fight pirates and all manner of monsters…inspire the greatest painter who ever lived…and save a star whale in outer space...and you will be absolutely magnificent…right to the very end.”

            The Doctor offers her an encouraging smile, waiting with his eyes locked on hers, observing her expression for the tiniest shift in detail. After a few moments, Amelia nods, a smile spreading across her lips as she wraps her arms around his neck and tugs him into a tight hug.

            “I can do that,” she whispers, pulling away from him and fixing him with a truly intimidating glare. “But you have to _promise_ _me_ that you’ll actually come back.”

            “I promise, Amelia Pond. From the bottom of my hearts.”

            “Good, you’d better,” she warns, all of that fiery, Scottish finesse melting into a delighted smile once she’s convinced that he won’t go back on his word.

            “But before you leave, you have tell me more about your adventures,” she adds, resting her elbows on her knees and cradling her chin in the palms of her hands. “I want to know _everything_.”

            The Doctor pauses, wondering just how much time he has before a younger version of himself, a broken, hopeful man from a crumbling, alternate universe, clinging to the notion that Amelia Pond, _his_ mad, impossible Amelia Pond, is strong enough, powerful enough, _loves him enough_ to pull him from the void in between all of creation and remember him back into existence, appears at the edge of little Amelia’s garden and finds her fast asleep atop her suitcase, carries her up to her bedroom, and tucks her in with a bedtime story about a magical box that’s ancient and brand new all at once, borrowed without any intention of return, and the bluest blue she could ever imagine.

            The Doctor takes a seat upon a nearby stone, conjuring memories of Gallifrey before the war, memories of meeting Rose, and Martha, and Donna, and Sarah Jane, and everyone he’d ever come to adore, delighting in the way Amelia smiles as he describes his beloved companions. After a little while, Amelia sinks down to rest her head against the brim of her suitcase, and closes her eyes, drifting off into a comfortable sleep. The Doctor smiles affectionately and leans down to place a soft, swift kiss to her forehead.

            “Sweet dreams, Amelia Pond,” he whispers, before turning on his heel and walking back the way he’d come. Amelia starts at the sound of the TARDIS taking off, eyes twitching open for a brief moment and a wave of panic that she’d merely imagined their second interaction settling in, but she’s far too sleepy for it to truly take effect. After all, this isn’t the last she’ll ever see of her Raggedy Doctor. Not by a long shot. Sometime, somewhere, and _somehow_ , several years into her future, the Doctor will come back for her, and the magnificent story of Amelia Pond will begin.

 


End file.
